Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, -But in that pomp it doth not long appear; 56 SOUL AND BODY Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And death once dead, there's no more dying then. W. SHAKESPEARE 57 LIFE The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man In his conception wretched, from the womb Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years Who then to frail mortality shall trust, Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest, Courts are but only superficial schools The rural parts are turn'd into a den And where's a city from foul vice so free, Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, Those that live single, take it for a curse, Some would have children: those that have them, moan Or wish them gone : What is it, then, to have, or have no wife, Our own affections still at home to please To cross the seas to any foreign soil, Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease, What then remains, but that we still should cry For being born, or, being born, to die? LORD BACON 58 THE LESSONS OF NATURE Of this fair volume which we World do name Find out His power which wildest powers doth His providence extending everywhere, His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, But silly we, like foolish children, rest Well pleased with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold, Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, 59 Doth then the World go thus, doth all thus move? Is this that firm decree which all doth bind ? Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind, Ah! if a Providence doth sway this all Why should best minds groan under most distress? Heavens! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time 60 THE WORLD'S WAY Tired with all these, for restful death I cry— And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And art made tongue-tied by authority, -Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, 61 W. SHAKESPEARE SAINT JOHN BAPTIST The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, There burst he forth: All ye whose hopes rely -Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? Only the echoes, which he made relent, THE GOLDEN TREASURY BOOK SECOND 62 ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY This is the month, and this the happy morn That He our deadly forfeit should release, And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high council-table He laid aside; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? |